We Will All Go Down Together
by Riley King
Summary: A book adaptation of Billy Joel's famous song, "Goodnight Saigon". The war and people in it are different, but the message and plot remains the same.
1. Chapter 1

The poster depicted a battlefield: tanks were firing madly, planes were unloading their bombs on the ground below, and several soldiers strode toward the onlooker; their guns seeming to point toward some unseen yet deadly enemy. But at the forefront was The Fuehrer; proud and bold yet gentle and comforting, with those perfectly chiseled features as if God himself had carved the man out of the finest marble. The caption underneath read, "Volunteer for the Waffen SS" and gave the cutoff date for the next deployment.

Ralph Heinrech reread the words for the thousandth time in several minutes. His eyes hungrily, greedily absorbed every detail; he observed the gleaming metal of the planes, stared at the perfect machinery mounted on caterpillar treads that was the tanks, admired the fierce determination and integrity of the soldiers. And all too important was the date. Finally, finally it was his time! The date was September 12th, 1920 – five days after he was born. It was a dream come true – finally he would be able to join the Nazi forces on the front lines of the battlefield, finally he would bring glory to his name and his country and to The Fuehrer. He could see himself in his minds' eye; wearing the proud uniform of the SS. He could hear the terrified shrieks of the enemy as they saw his measured and deliberate approach. He could feel the cold steel of the rifle in his hands – a deadly weapon to be used by him and him alone!

But despite the calculated perfection of the weaponry, despite his grandiose dreams, it was undoubtedly the face of Hitler that drew his attention the most. What a miracle it was that one man could be so intelligence, carry so much grace, have so much courage, be so wise and powerful! It was Adolf Hitler and Adolf Hitler alone who had made Germany great again, who had rescued her from the pits of despair, who had incapacitated those responsible for her rape after the World War, who had made her a great and terrible power to compete with the other great powers of the world. The Fuehrer held the country together with his bare hands, and it was inconceivable to think what would happen to the nation without him there, without his firm and gentle hand to guide them. Ralph reached out a shaking hand to touch the perfect face, and at that moment the feeling, the knowledge that he would someday make this man proud washed over him. He would prove himself on the front, he would have his baptism by fire into the great majesty of the Nazi way, and he would find Hitler's favor. Nothing else could ever matter.

A sound reached his ear – footsteps, the delighted cries of children, the closing of doors. People began to file out of their shops and their homes and into the streets. The rally was to begin in an hour's time, and everyone wanted to get to the best spots possible. Ralph gazed at the poster for a final time, and then allowed himself to be swept with the crowd. Soon, all too soon, he would bear witness to the only thing more glorious than the image – Hitler himself.

The stream of people from shops and houses grew larger, the crowd swelled around the edges, barely contained by the narrow street. Together, as a great tide of human beings who are united by one ultimate purpose, they moved quickly down the street. Armed SS officers appeared from their posts to stride casually alongside the people.

As one they walked, talking amongst themselves as they went. The small talk was expected, it was a way to contain the shaking that inevitably began in the hours before seeing The Fuehrer. But it was a façade, a mask, an illusion that one has the ability but not the desire to penetrate. Beneath it was the tension, like a swarm of black wasps; an anticipation that escaped from living bodies to lay so palpably in the air that Ralph was almost surprised that the buildings around him did not crack and crumble under the stress. If not for the new renovations that had been introduced to almost every part of Germany – another gift from Hitler – they might well have toppled down one by one; feeble objects who were powerless before the love of Hitler.

Nearly everything from the top down had been torn down and made new when The Fuehrer stepped in. Buildings, laws, the police, rifles, machinery, weapons – all of it had been re-forged in the fires of industry and bloodless efficiency. It represented on a small scale the vision The Fuehrer had for Germany, the ultimate plans he had in store for her. Ralph could not help but admire the artistry, the sweat, the blood, the tears, the sheer, incomprehensible _effort _that a man as great as Hitler had poured into such a dead and impoverished nation as Germany. Germany owed the Fuehrer everything. _He _owed the Fuehrer everything.

The crowd finally reached the square where the rally was to be held. A large group of school children was already assembled in a section all their own, their small faces afire with fevered thrill. More people were pouring in from all the surrounding areas of the town, gibbering animatedly to each other.

A great platform was erected in the middle of the square, adorned with banners bearing the mighty swastika. Heinreich Himmler, the chief commanding officer of the SS, was already seated on a fold-out chair on the platform; as were several of Germany's higher-ranking officials.

And then – audible even above the excited murmuring of the crowd – came the tramp of marching feet. Ralph strained his eyes, and finally he could see them. Row upon row of SS officers came around the corner – perfectly in step, their angelic faces composed into expressions of stern dignity, their bright blue eyes dancing with suppressed excitement. Above them came the airplanes, their jet engines screaming with the voices of the people; screaming for Germany and all of her people. Behind them came the tanks, their treads crunching the ground beneath them as they had crunched the enemy beneath them so many times before. The tension, the black wasps, boiled over the bodies and amassed over the square – a great cloud that covered anything and everything and could not be denied.

The crowd's murmuring quickened its tempo and raised its volume. People at the back had begun to cry out excitedly. There – standing on the last tank, hands on hips – was that the Fuehrer? It was! The Fuehrer! The black cloud of roiling tension exploded, with all the vitality of a supernova, enveloping all who stood in the crowd with the undeniable, feral urge to be closer to this man; to speak with him, to hear him, to be guided by him. People around Ralph lifted their hands, and he joined them; pleading, praising, worshipping. The Fuehrer was the rebuilder of Germany, the re-shaper of civilization; he was their Savior, and their God. For Hitler they lived, for Hitler they died, for Hitler they got up in the morning and for Hitler they went down again at night. And now, he was here, he in person was here to tell them how valued they were, to tell them what they meant to him, to tell them that if they followed him to the end, then it would be all right, all of it would be all right. Hitler and Hitler alone would lead them, would guide them, would save them.

Ralph saw him step down from the tank, and all of the soldiers around him saluted. They gave the cry, and it came from their throats, but it might have come from anyone's, from any German's larynx; feral and praiseful, fierce and loving.

"Heil Hitler!"

The Fuehrer began to walk, slowly and with great dignity, down the path as a Vagner opera began to play. Ralph was in the front row, he could see it all. And as he watched, The Fuehrer turned and looked at him and smiled. Ralph nearly sank to his knees, his eyes filled up with tears. Adolf Hitler had smiled at him!

Hitler made his way to the podium, where Himmler was waiting to greet him. They saluted each other, and then the officer made his way to the microphone.

"It is my distinct and unwarranted honor, my humble privilege, to introduce the man who has made Germany anew. I have the divine opportunity to give to you the man who has shaped our poor, starving nation into a power the liked of which the world has never seen, nor ever will see again!"

Ralph began to shout and to cheer and to scream, as did everyone else in the crowd. Himmler held up his hands for quiet.

"It is my honor to introduce the man who holds the power of the heavens in an iron fist, the man who will cleanse this country and this world of all things evil, a man of impeccable and unquestionable integrity, a man who I firmly believe is God incarnate, your Fuehrer, Adolf Hitler!"

Himmler stepped down, and the crowd exploded with cheers and praise and tribute as Hitler ascended to the podium, flanked by two SS officers who looked – as did all SS officers – as if they were angels from heaven.

But even they paled in utter insignificance beside the majesty of the Fuehrer. Ralph's earlier assessment, that Hitler looked as if he had been carved by the hand of God out of marble, was wrong – he could see that now. The man's confidence, his greatness, his power rolled of his skin as if God Himself had come to dwell among men.

For a single, fleeting moment the Fuehrer appraised the crowd. Then, with the one-armed salute of the Nazi, he shouted, "Heil!"

The answering cry shook the ground, it split the heavens; it contained such awesome ferocity and power that even the angels and demons alike, in both heaven and hell, heard it and feared.

"HEIL, HITLER!"

The crowd began to cry out again; Ralph began to scream with the others. The Fuehrer allowed the crowd to cheer for a few moments, let them express their praise and adoration, then raised his hands for silence. It was instantaneous.

"My comrades," he said, his voice booming through the loudspeakers so that even those at the far reaches of the crowd could hear him without trouble. "Children of Germany, it is an honor to greet you again after these few months!"

Ralph raised his voice in his praise and worship, screaming until his voice grew hoarse. All around him, the people were doing the same. He could see the baker from down the street who occasionally gave him free bread shouting at the top of his lungs, he could see the florist who donated flowers every year to the charities lifting her hands in praise; they were united. And yet, Ralph could remember a time, when he was a little boy, when they had been downtrodden and hopeless, when they had no thought of anything but the day to day struggle to survive. Hitler had provided them with a common cause; he had unified the entire nation of Germany as it had never been unified before. They owed him.

"Look around you!" thundered the Fuehrer. "All around the old things are passing! For too long has Germany been raped and plundered by the corrupt politicians, for too long has she been left at the mercy of the Americans and the Jews! The old Germany was weak; to become strong she must become new! She _will _become new!"

Again the crowd began to shout. It was not possible to stay silent during speeches of the Fuehrer's. Always did the overwhelming sense of rightness, or purpose, of _destiny _overwhelm all those who listened.

"Germany is changing, the world is changing! The old leaders wanted to beg, they groveled on their knees before the Zionist conspirators, they sniveled with cowardice and begged to be given mercy! But mercy did not come! And when they realized that their begging earned them nothing, they resorted to climbing into bed with the corrupt League of Nations and the Americans!"

"Nein! Nein!" shouted the crowd, their rage flaring.

"But we were not given mercy! We were not given justice! We were thrown aside as if we were nothing more than a whore off of the streets! Is this how Germany will be treated? Is this how the German people will be remembered? No! Listen to me: not content with leaving Germany to the dogs, with taking our weapons and out dignity, the Jews are pushing for their own state! Who knows what they could do, what degradations they could inflict? Are we going to allow them to rape us again?"

"Nein!" shouted Ralph. "Nein!" shouted the crowd.

"Are we going to allow the Jews and their American puppets to whip us raw?"

"Nein!"

"Who turned the West against us in the World War?"

"The Jews!"

"Who corrupted our government?"

"The Jews!"

The Jews! How Ralph hated them! How he loathed the sight of their scraggly, unkempt beards, the smell of their incense, their sanctimonious self-righteousness! There was no dark pit of filth, no hole infested with crime and poverty that did not contain – was not because of – a Jew! How he longed for the day that they would be exterminated once and for all, when the Jews and their slaves would be stripped of their power, and when that power would be given to the Aryans!

"A new day is beginning!" Hitler shouted. "The sun is setting on the Americans and the Zionist traitors, and it is rising on the land of our fathers! The long night of our captivity is over and done! We now hold the power, and we will hold it in an iron fist whose power will never be broken!"

The Fuehrer lowered his raised hands, and Ralph began to shout at the top of his lungs with the rest of the crowd. And the feeling had changed, the excitement, the tension, the anticipation had changed and had been separated into two feelings, both as powerful as the other, both pointing him in one single direction. First there was his hatred, his hatred of the Jews, his hatred of the Americans, his hatred of the people who had raped Germany. And then, just as powerful, was his love, his undeniable, unconditional love of Germany, of the Nazis, and most important of all, of Hitler. This love that was worship infiltrated him, filled every part of his body, from his feet to his head, infused every fiber of his being.

And again the sense of power, of _rightness _pervaded his body, and what he had to do was clearer than it had ever been. It was time that he stopped dreaming about the war, dreaming about what he could do for Germany. It was time that he actually _did _it.

The green truck pulled into the housing district, then came to an abrupt halt. A man stepped out of the passenger seat, walked to the back of the truck, and unlatched the door.

Ralph watched through his window as men from all around the neighborhood began to leave their houses, kissing their wives and children and sometimes their parents goodbye. It was his time to go, too. He put on his boots, straightened his back, and tried in vain to suppress the elation bubbling in the pit of his stomach.

He was lucky that he did not have to go through the same situation as the men around him did, he acknowledged that. Certainly all of them were eager to do their part for Germany, to fight for the Fuehrer, but many of them had families that they were leaving behind and might never see again. Ralph did not have that situation. His father had left shortly after his mother became pregnant, and his mother died giving birth to him. He had been placed in a shelter for abandoned children until the time when Hitler came to power, after which he was moved to a Hitler Youth facility. He out of all of the other young men he knew had the most to be thankful for; the most to thank the Fuehrer for, and it was time that he repay some of his debt.

There was already a line to enter the back of the truck, and a uniformed officer had a clipboard and was taking down names. Ralph took his place in the queue.

The officer turned to him as he approached.

"Name?" he asked.

"Ralph Heinrech."

"Heinrech, Ralph…hmm, you're a lucky one. If you were born six days later you would have had to wait another year before you could go."

"Yessir, I am lucky."

"Get in the truck, Heinrech."

Ralph climbed into the bed of the truck, where ten other young men were huddled on benches. He sat down next to one – a man he had never met before.

The tension was heavy in the air, as thick as it had been the day of the rally, but compacted into these eleven bodies. And then the truck started – Ralph had been the last. It was time! It was time! Finally, it was time! The eleven men looked at each other, smiling the same half smiles, barely able to contain themselves.

But then something happened. As they looked at each other and the fire burned in their bellies, a cold tendril brushed Ralph's spine. It was a finger, light as a feather, colder than ice; no, it was a hand, a hand that grabbed his insides in an iron grip and refused to let them go. The fire was doused, extinguished. Gone. He suddenly felt the urge to vomit.

The excitement, the anticipation was there, yes, but so was something new – fear. He had been waiting eighteen years for this to happen, he had dreamed about it in his Youth programs, he had tasted it in his food, he had breathed it in the air, and now he was afraid.

He was going off to war. He going to join the frontlines, where a dozen men where seen to perish every day, where the planes dropped their bombs indiscriminately, where the tanks with their turrets on a swivel could shoot you and your comrades dead without a second thought. He was going to have to face the French, the British, so many others; all of whom had been training for this day since the World War, who had practiced and practiced with tedious repetition until they could kill a Nazi in their sleep. They had superior weaponry, superior training, superior tactics; superior everything and Ralph was only an eighteen years old. A boy. And now he was going to his death, they were going to kill him, and nothing could stop it.

His hands began to shake, and he cast his eyes about the truck bed; looking for something, anything, to take his mind away, to dissipate this fear and dissolve his terror. There was the rattling of the bed, so harsh that it seemed as if the floor would fall beneath them. There was the canopy stretching over them, stifling them; the body bag that they would all soon go home in. There was the pale faces of the other young men, the delight and the anticipation gone, replaced by the same devastating dread; the faces of the dead.

But above him – he strained his neck to turn his head and see it – above him someone had taped a poster of the Fuehrer to the canopy. And as he stared into the dark eyes, the eyes of a God, peace settled over him. He had no reason to fear: God and the Fuehrer were on his side. The instinct of the Nazis, the ancestral memories of the Aryans, the warrior impulse ran in his blood; as deeply a part of him as his own name. And that pure instinct, coupled with the wise leadership of the Fuehrer, was something that the British and the French would never, _could _never understand, something that was beyond Ralph himself. It was what would win the war.

Around him his comrades had cast their eyes upward as well; they all felt the same feeling flooding through them. Their fear was gone, their doubts assuaged, their minds and hearts put at ease, comforted by the power that rested in the simple picture above them. One by one the inheritors of the German power forced their gaze away from the poster and turned to each other, and now there was no conflict in their faces, no fear in their eyes; there was only the resolve that now shone on each man, and the intoxication of the power that they would all soon share.

There was a screech, a rattle; the truck was slowing down. A hurried conversation between the driver and someone outside took place.

"Let me see your identification."

A shuffling.

"What's your cargo?"

"I've got eleven Waffen SS recruits, ready for basic training."

"Fresh ones, eh? Let's hope that they do as well as the last batch that came through – fourteen recruits and only three of them were able to stick it through to the end."

"Well, they'll just have to do better than that." The driver turned and addressed Ralph and the other ten recruits. "Won't you boys?"

They all shouted, stomping their boots on the ground.

"Very well," said the voice outside the truck. "You can carry on."

Ralph's grin widened. They were passing through the security checkpoint, they had to be close! They were fast approaching the basic training camp – no, they were fast approaching _destiny. _

A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead, and his mind filled anew with worries. What would the base commander be like? Would they be able to complete their training fast enough, or would the war be over by the time that they were done? Was he one of the ones who had the strength to stick it through?

Again he looked at the poster of The Fuehrer, drew his strength from the strength apparent in even the mere _picture _of the man. There was no point in giving voice to unnecessary worries. He would survive the basic training. He would survive the war. He would do Hitler proud.

The truck came to another screeching halt. There were a few moments of silence, when the tension in the air as thick as the boots they were, and then the hatch at the back of the truck bed opened up. The same man who had taken roll when they entered was standing there, peering into the truck bed.

"Commander Uhles wishes to see if his recruits are men or girls. Step out and look lively, now."

Ralph stood up, his hands balled into fists at his side; the bead of sweat on his forehead had been joined by several others like it. Now was the time, the time when both the Base Commander and he would find out if he was a man or not. He walked to the front of the line, eager to prove himself. The other recruits formed a line behind him, and together they stepped out into the bright light.

They found themselves in a grey courtyard, with small weeds sprouting up here and there. A small bunker was to their right; that, presumably, was where they were going to be sleeping. Past the courtyard they could see a group of trainees marching in perfect formation, shouting out the words to drills as they went. There were several, smaller courtyards that held pull-up bars, weight sets, obstacle courses, and all manner of fitness equipment. A shooting range was beyond that, and beyond _that _was a grey building with no name or adornment on it.

But directly in front of them was a large, tall man of athletic trim and build, with his blonde hair in a buzz cut. He had a large, blonde mustache under his nose and a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles rested on his nose. He walked with presence and confidence, with a force hidden behind his eyes and his flesh. This was the Base Commander Uhles, this was the man who would train them, would make them great, would make them proud warriors of Germany.

He walked up and down the line, his hands still clasped behind his back, appraising the recruits with his eyes. Then, without warning, he gave a shout.

"Heil!"

Ralph shouted without hesitation. "Heil Hitler!" His comrades did the same.

"You there!" Commander Uhles said, pointing at Ralph. "Are you a man, or are you a girl? Are you prepared to lay down your life in service to the Fuehrer, to kill or be killed for the glory of Germany?"

"Yes, Herr Uhles!" Ralph said.

"No!" said the Commander. "No, not _Herr! _You shall refer to me as Base Commander, and nothing else, do you understand?"

"Yes, Commander!" said Ralph.

Commander Uhles' expression softened. "For the next four months," he said. "I will be your teacher, your priest, your commander, your fitness instructor. I will tell you what to eat, and when to eat it. I will tell you what you will say, and when you will say it. I will tell you what to think, and when to think it. I will tell you how to survive in combat, how to shoot a rifle, how to throw a grenade, how to avoid bombings by planes, how to stay alive when confronted with a tank. I am the one who will decide if you are ready to leave this facility and join our soldiers on the frontlines, and I am here to tell you that not all of you will have the strength to make it through the training, that for whatever reason you are not worthy of the Waffen SS. It is a sad fact, but it is a fact nonetheless. If you wish to survive, if you wish to bring glory to Germany and to The Fuehrer, you will do everything and anything that I say. Is that clear to you?"

"Yes, Commander!" they all shouted.

The Commander paused for a moment, and then continued with his instructions in a firmer voice.

"You have not experienced anything akin to what you will experience here. There are physical and mental challenges that you must overcome if you wish to become an officer of the SS, and as I have said, many of you will not overcome them. You will be tested to the very limits of your body and your mind. Your muscles will cry out with pain, your lungs will gasp for air, and you will think that you cannot continue any longer. But if you do continue, if you push through the pain and the weakness, you will become an elite member of the most well-trained combat force in the world. The Americans will not be able to touch you, if they ever decide to join the war, the British will not be able to touch you, the French will not be able to touch you. The filthy Jews, for all their cunning and guile, will not be able to touch you. You will be an Aryan warrior, a Nazi soldier, a member of the Waffen SS, a weapon so deadly that no force on the Earth will be able to deter you. Your training starts tomorrow. Today you will be inspected by our medical staff, shaved, and given new uniforms, and spend the night in the bunker, waiting for your training to begin. Are you ready?"

"Yes, Commander!"

"Very well, then. We shall see. Staff Sergeant Schmidt!"

A black-uniformed man, with the lightning-bolt SS symbol on his uniform, appeared out of nowhere.

"Yes, Commander?"

"Staff Sergeant, take the new trainees to the medical facility. Have them examined, and take care of the other routine matters."

"Yes, Commander!" Staff Sergeant Schmidt said. He gestured to Ralph and the other trainees. "Single file line, follow me!"

Ralph stepped in place behind the Staff Sergeant, his face alight with glorious exultation. He was doing it, finally doing it! He was going to be an elite warrior, a member of the Waffen SS, a deadly tool in The Fuehrer's arsenal. He was going to be the one on the frontlines, the one who would bring honor to Germany, the one who would put down the Jews and their puppets. And all he had to do was pass four months of training, complete his exercises, and he would be handed a uniform and a rifle! He had always been fit, it could not be too hard, it could not be anything that he would be unable to deal with. Already he could see himself, saluting the Commander, being sent to the front lines, winning the war – all of it, anything that he dreamed, was possible.

They entered the medical facility, where they were all told to take off their clothes and enter a different room. Ralph entered the foremost door, where a silent doctor in a white coat motioned for him to stand up. The doctor ran fingers over his body, down his arms and his legs, then took strange instruments and put them in his ears, in his nose, everywhere and anywhere, making notes in a file as he did so. After half an hour he was taken to a hallway where barbers with shears shaved off his heads and grim-faced men handed him a pile of clothes to put on. He was instructed to follow the cobblestone path as it wound to the right side until he reached the bunker, where he would stay until the morning came and he was given further instructions from the Commander or the Staff Sergeant.

When he entered the bunker, the other ten recruits – _trainees, _now – were already there. No one was speaking. Ralph took his place beside a young man who was, perhaps, slightly older than he was. He said nothing, but gave an embarrassed half glance as Ralph sat down. Ralph returned the gesture in kind.

None of the men said anything, lost in their own reveries of bloody battle and plunder. One by one, with nothing better to do, they found positions in the bunker to sleep. Ralph was among the last to do so, but as he laid down he did not immediately go to sleep, but thought one thing.

_I'm going to be a Waffen SS. I'm going to be a Waffen SS. I'm going to be a…_

And then he fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The poster depicted a battlefield: tanks were firing madly, planes were unloading their bombs on the ground below, and several soldiers strode toward the onlooker; their guns seeming to point toward some unseen yet deadly enemy. But at the forefront was The Fuehrer; proud and bold yet gentle and comforting, with those perfectly chiseled features as if God himself had carved the man out of the finest marble. The caption underneath read, "Volunteer for the Waffen SS" and gave the cutoff date for the next deployment.

Ralph Heinrech reread the words for the thousandth time in several minutes. His eyes hungrily, greedily absorbed every detail; he observed the gleaming metal of the planes, stared at the perfect machinery mounted on caterpillar treads that was the tanks, admired the fierce determination and integrity of the soldiers. And all too important was the date. Finally, finally it was his time! The date was September 12th, 1920 – five days after he was born. It was a dream come true – finally he would be able to join the Nazi forces on the front lines of the battlefield, finally he would bring glory to his name and his country and to The Fuehrer. He could see himself in his minds' eye; wearing the proud uniform of the SS. He could hear the terrified shrieks of the enemy as they saw his measured and deliberate approach. He could feel the cold steel of the rifle in his hands – a deadly weapon to be used by him and him alone!

But despite the calculated perfection of the weaponry, despite his grandiose dreams, it was undoubtedly the face of Hitler that drew his attention the most. What a miracle it was that one man could be so intelligence, carry so much grace, have so much courage, be so wise and powerful! It was Adolf Hitler and Adolf Hitler alone who had made Germany great again, who had rescued her from the pits of despair, who had incapacitated those responsible for her rape after the World War, who had made her a great and terrible power to compete with the other great powers of the world. The Fuehrer held the country together with his bare hands, and it was inconceivable to think what would happen to the nation without him there, without his firm and gentle hand to guide them. Ralph reached out a shaking hand to touch the perfect face, and at that moment the feeling, the knowledge that he would someday make this man proud washed over him. He would prove himself on the front, he would have his baptism by fire into the great majesty of the Nazi way, and he would find Hitler's favor. Nothing else could ever matter.

A sound reached his ear – footsteps, the delighted cries of children, the closing of doors. People began to file out of their shops and their homes and into the streets. The rally was to begin in an hour's time, and everyone wanted to get to the best spots possible. Ralph gazed at the poster for a final time, and then allowed himself to be swept with the crowd. Soon, all too soon, he would bear witness to the only thing more glorious than the image – Hitler himself.

The stream of people from shops and houses grew larger, the crowd swelled around the edges, barely contained by the narrow street. Together, as a great tide of human beings who are united by one ultimate purpose, they moved quickly down the street. Armed SS officers appeared from their posts to stride casually alongside the people.

As one they walked, talking amongst themselves as they went. The small talk was expected, it was a way to contain the shaking that inevitably began in the hours before seeing The Fuehrer. But it was a façade, a mask, an illusion that one has the ability but not the desire to penetrate. Beneath it was the tension, like a swarm of black wasps; an anticipation that escaped from living bodies to lay so palpably in the air that Ralph was almost surprised that the buildings around him did not crack and crumble under the stress. If not for the new renovations that had been introduced to almost every part of Germany – another gift from Hitler – they might well have toppled down one by one; feeble objects who were powerless before the love of Hitler.

Nearly everything from the top down had been torn down and made new when The Fuehrer stepped in. Buildings, laws, the police, rifles, machinery, weapons – all of it had been re-forged in the fires of industry and bloodless efficiency. It represented on a small scale the vision The Fuehrer had for Germany, the ultimate plans he had in store for her. Ralph could not help but admire the artistry, the sweat, the blood, the tears, the sheer, incomprehensible _effort _that a man as great as Hitler had poured into such a dead and impoverished nation as Germany. Germany owed the Fuehrer everything. _He _owed the Fuehrer everything.

The crowd finally reached the square where the rally was to be held. A large group of school children was already assembled in a section all their own, their small faces afire with fevered thrill. More people were pouring in from all the surrounding areas of the town, gibbering animatedly to each other.

A great platform was erected in the middle of the square, adorned with banners bearing the mighty swastika. Heinreich Himmler, the chief commanding officer of the SS, was already seated on a fold-out chair on the platform; as were several of Germany's higher-ranking officials.

And then – audible even above the excited murmuring of the crowd – came the tramp of marching feet. Ralph strained his eyes, and finally he could see them. Row upon row of SS officers came around the corner – perfectly in step, their angelic faces composed into expressions of stern dignity, their bright blue eyes dancing with suppressed excitement. Above them came the airplanes, their jet engines screaming with the voices of the people; screaming for Germany and all of her people. Behind them came the tanks, their treads crunching the ground beneath them as they had crunched the enemy beneath them so many times before. The tension, the black wasps, boiled over the bodies and amassed over the square – a great cloud that covered anything and everything and could not be denied.

The crowd's murmuring quickened its tempo and raised its volume. People at the back had begun to cry out excitedly. There – standing on the last tank, hands on hips – was that the Fuehrer? It was! The Fuehrer! The black cloud of roiling tension exploded, with all the vitality of a supernova, enveloping all who stood in the crowd with the undeniable, feral urge to be closer to this man; to speak with him, to hear him, to be guided by him. People around Ralph lifted their hands, and he joined them; pleading, praising, worshipping. The Fuehrer was the rebuilder of Germany, the re-shaper of civilization; he was their Savior, and their God. For Hitler they lived, for Hitler they died, for Hitler they got up in the morning and for Hitler they went down again at night. And now, he was here, he in person was here to tell them how valued they were, to tell them what they meant to him, to tell them that if they followed him to the end, then it would be all right, all of it would be all right. Hitler and Hitler alone would lead them, would guide them, would save them.

Ralph saw him step down from the tank, and all of the soldiers around him saluted. They gave the cry, and it came from their throats, but it might have come from anyone's, from any German's larynx; feral and praiseful, fierce and loving.

"Heil Hitler!"

The Fuehrer began to walk, slowly and with great dignity, down the path as a Vagner opera began to play. Ralph was in the front row, he could see it all. And as he watched, The Fuehrer turned and looked at him and smiled. Ralph nearly sank to his knees, his eyes filled up with tears. Adolf Hitler had smiled at him!

Hitler made his way to the podium, where Himmler was waiting to greet him. They saluted each other, and then the officer made his way to the microphone.

"It is my distinct and unwarranted honor, my humble privilege, to introduce the man who has made Germany anew. I have the divine opportunity to give to you the man who has shaped our poor, starving nation into a power the liked of which the world has never seen, nor ever will see again!"

Ralph began to shout and to cheer and to scream, as did everyone else in the crowd. Himmler held up his hands for quiet.

"It is my honor to introduce the man who holds the power of the heavens in an iron fist, the man who will cleanse this country and this world of all things evil, a man of impeccable and unquestionable integrity, a man who I firmly believe is God incarnate, your Fuehrer, Adolf Hitler!"

Himmler stepped down, and the crowd exploded with cheers and praise and tribute as Hitler ascended to the podium, flanked by two SS officers who looked – as did all SS officers – as if they were angels from heaven.

But even they paled in utter insignificance beside the majesty of the Fuehrer. Ralph's earlier assessment, that Hitler looked as if he had been carved by the hand of God out of marble, was wrong – he could see that now. The man's confidence, his greatness, his power rolled of his skin as if God Himself had come to dwell among men.

For a single, fleeting moment the Fuehrer appraised the crowd. Then, with the one-armed salute of the Nazi, he shouted, "Heil!"

The answering cry shook the ground, it split the heavens; it contained such awesome ferocity and power that even the angels and demons alike, in both heaven and hell, heard it and feared.

"HEIL, HITLER!"

The crowd began to cry out again; Ralph began to scream with the others. The Fuehrer allowed the crowd to cheer for a few moments, let them express their praise and adoration, then raised his hands for silence. It was instantaneous.

"My comrades," he said, his voice booming through the loudspeakers so that even those at the far reaches of the crowd could hear him without trouble. "Children of Germany, it is an honor to greet you again after these few months!"

Ralph raised his voice in his praise and worship, screaming until his voice grew hoarse. All around him, the people were doing the same. He could see the baker from down the street who occasionally gave him free bread shouting at the top of his lungs, he could see the florist who donated flowers every year to the charities lifting her hands in praise; they were united. And yet, Ralph could remember a time, when he was a little boy, when they had been downtrodden and hopeless, when they had no thought of anything but the day to day struggle to survive. Hitler had provided them with a common cause; he had unified the entire nation of Germany as it had never been unified before. They owed him.

"Look around you!" thundered the Fuehrer. "All around the old things are passing! For too long has Germany been raped and plundered by the corrupt politicians, for too long has she been left at the mercy of the Americans and the Jews! The old Germany was weak; to become strong she must become new! She _will _become new!"

Again the crowd began to shout. It was not possible to stay silent during speeches of the Fuehrer's. Always did the overwhelming sense of rightness, or purpose, of _destiny _overwhelm all those who listened.

"Germany is changing, the world is changing! The old leaders wanted to beg, they groveled on their knees before the Zionist conspirators, they sniveled with cowardice and begged to be given mercy! But mercy did not come! And when they realized that their begging earned them nothing, they resorted to climbing into bed with the corrupt League of Nations and the Americans!"

"Nein! Nein!" shouted the crowd, their rage flaring.

"But we were not given mercy! We were not given justice! We were thrown aside as if we were nothing more than a whore off of the streets! Is this how Germany will be treated? Is this how the German people will be remembered? No! Listen to me: not content with leaving Germany to the dogs, with taking our weapons and out dignity, the Jews are pushing for their own state! Who knows what they could do, what degradations they could inflict? Are we going to allow them to rape us again?"

"Nein!" shouted Ralph. "Nein!" shouted the crowd.

"Are we going to allow the Jews and their American puppets to whip us raw?"

"Nein!"

"Who turned the West against us in the World War?"

"The Jews!"

"Who corrupted our government?"

"The Jews!"

The Jews! How Ralph hated them! How he loathed the sight of their scraggly, unkempt beards, the smell of their incense, their sanctimonious self-righteousness! There was no dark pit of filth, no hole infested with crime and poverty that did not contain – was not because of – a Jew! How he longed for the day that they would be exterminated once and for all, when the Jews and their slaves would be stripped of their power, and when that power would be given to the Aryans!

"A new day is beginning!" Hitler shouted. "The sun is setting on the Americans and the Zionist traitors, and it is rising on the land of our fathers! The long night of our captivity is over and done! We now hold the power, and we will hold it in an iron fist whose power will never be broken!"

The Fuehrer lowered his raised hands, and Ralph began to shout at the top of his lungs with the rest of the crowd. And the feeling had changed, the excitement, the tension, the anticipation had changed and had been separated into two feelings, both as powerful as the other, both pointing him in one single direction. First there was his hatred, his hatred of the Jews, his hatred of the Americans, his hatred of the people who had raped Germany. And then, just as powerful, was his love, his undeniable, unconditional love of Germany, of the Nazis, and most important of all, of Hitler. This love that was worship infiltrated him, filled every part of his body, from his feet to his head, infused every fiber of his being.

And again the sense of power, of _rightness _pervaded his body, and what he had to do was clearer than it had ever been. It was time that he stopped dreaming about the war, dreaming about what he could do for Germany. It was time that he actually _did _it.

The green truck pulled into the housing district, then came to an abrupt halt. A man stepped out of the passenger seat, walked to the back of the truck, and unlatched the door.

Ralph watched through his window as men from all around the neighborhood began to leave their houses, kissing their wives and children and sometimes their parents goodbye. It was his time to go, too. He put on his boots, straightened his back, and tried in vain to suppress the elation bubbling in the pit of his stomach.

He was lucky that he did not have to go through the same situation as the men around him did, he acknowledged that. Certainly all of them were eager to do their part for Germany, to fight for the Fuehrer, but many of them had families that they were leaving behind and might never see again. Ralph did not have that situation. His father had left shortly after his mother became pregnant, and his mother died giving birth to him. He had been placed in a shelter for abandoned children until the time when Hitler came to power, after which he was moved to a Hitler Youth facility. He out of all of the other young men he knew had the most to be thankful for; the most to thank the Fuehrer for, and it was time that he repay some of his debt.

There was already a line to enter the back of the truck, and a uniformed officer had a clipboard and was taking down names. Ralph took his place in the queue.

The officer turned to him as he approached.

"Name?" he asked.

"Ralph Heinrech."

"Heinrech, Ralph…hmm, you're a lucky one. If you were born six days later you would have had to wait another year before you could go."

"Yessir, I am lucky."

"Get in the truck, Heinrech."

Ralph climbed into the bed of the truck, where ten other young men were huddled on benches. He sat down next to one – a man he had never met before.

The tension was heavy in the air, as thick as it had been the day of the rally, but compacted into these eleven bodies. And then the truck started – Ralph had been the last. It was time! It was time! Finally, it was time! The eleven men looked at each other, smiling the same half smiles, barely able to contain themselves.

But then something happened. As they looked at each other and the fire burned in their bellies, a cold tendril brushed Ralph's spine. It was a finger, light as a feather, colder than ice; no, it was a hand, a hand that grabbed his insides in an iron grip and refused to let them go. The fire was doused, extinguished. Gone. He suddenly felt the urge to vomit.

The excitement, the anticipation was there, yes, but so was something new – fear. He had been waiting eighteen years for this to happen, he had dreamed about it in his Youth programs, he had tasted it in his food, he had breathed it in the air, and now he was afraid.

He was going off to war. He going to join the frontlines, where a dozen men where seen to perish every day, where the planes dropped their bombs indiscriminately, where the tanks with their turrets on a swivel could shoot you and your comrades dead without a second thought. He was going to have to face the French, the British, so many others; all of whom had been training for this day since the World War, who had practiced and practiced with tedious repetition until they could kill a Nazi in their sleep. They had superior weaponry, superior training, superior tactics; superior everything and Ralph was only an eighteen years old. A boy. And now he was going to his death, they were going to kill him, and nothing could stop it.

His hands began to shake, and he cast his eyes about the truck bed; looking for something, anything, to take his mind away, to dissipate this fear and dissolve his terror. There was the rattling of the bed, so harsh that it seemed as if the floor would fall beneath them. There was the canopy stretching over them, stifling them; the body bag that they would all soon go home in. There was the pale faces of the other young men, the delight and the anticipation gone, replaced by the same devastating dread; the faces of the dead.

But above him – he strained his neck to turn his head and see it – above him someone had taped a poster of the Fuehrer to the canopy. And as he stared into the dark eyes, the eyes of a God, peace settled over him. He had no reason to fear: God and the Fuehrer were on his side. The instinct of the Nazis, the ancestral memories of the Aryans, the warrior impulse ran in his blood; as deeply a part of him as his own name. And that pure instinct, coupled with the wise leadership of the Fuehrer, was something that the British and the French would never, _could _never understand, something that was beyond Ralph himself. It was what would win the war.

Around him his comrades had cast their eyes upward as well; they all felt the same feeling flooding through them. Their fear was gone, their doubts assuaged, their minds and hearts put at ease, comforted by the power that rested in the simple picture above them. One by one the inheritors of the German power forced their gaze away from the poster and turned to each other, and now there was no conflict in their faces, no fear in their eyes; there was only the resolve that now shone on each man, and the intoxication of the power that they would all soon share.

There was a screech, a rattle; the truck was slowing down. A hurried conversation between the driver and someone outside took place.

"Let me see your identification."

A shuffling.

"What's your cargo?"

"I've got eleven Waffen SS recruits, ready for basic training."

"Fresh ones, eh? Let's hope that they do as well as the last batch that came through – fourteen recruits and only three of them were able to stick it through to the end."

"Well, they'll just have to do better than that." The driver turned and addressed Ralph and the other ten recruits. "Won't you boys?"

They all shouted, stomping their boots on the ground.

"Very well," said the voice outside the truck. "You can carry on."

Ralph's grin widened. They were passing through the security checkpoint, they had to be close! They were fast approaching the basic training camp – no, they were fast approaching _destiny. _

A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead, and his mind filled anew with worries. What would the base commander be like? Would they be able to complete their training fast enough, or would the war be over by the time that they were done? Was he one of the ones who had the strength to stick it through?

Again he looked at the poster of The Fuehrer, drew his strength from the strength apparent in even the mere _picture _of the man. There was no point in giving voice to unnecessary worries. He would survive the basic training. He would survive the war. He would do Hitler proud.

The truck came to another screeching halt. There were a few moments of silence, when the tension in the air as thick as the boots they were, and then the hatch at the back of the truck bed opened up. The same man who had taken roll when they entered was standing there, peering into the truck bed.

"Commander Uhles wishes to see if his recruits are men or girls. Step out and look lively, now."

Ralph stood up, his hands balled into fists at his side; the bead of sweat on his forehead had been joined by several others like it. Now was the time, the time when both the Base Commander and he would find out if he was a man or not. He walked to the front of the line, eager to prove himself. The other recruits formed a line behind him, and together they stepped out into the bright light.

They found themselves in a grey courtyard, with small weeds sprouting up here and there. A small bunker was to their right; that, presumably, was where they were going to be sleeping. Past the courtyard they could see a group of trainees marching in perfect formation, shouting out the words to drills as they went. There were several, smaller courtyards that held pull-up bars, weight sets, obstacle courses, and all manner of fitness equipment. A shooting range was beyond that, and beyond _that _was a grey building with no name or adornment on it.

But directly in front of them was a large, tall man of athletic trim and build, with his blonde hair in a buzz cut. He had a large, blonde mustache under his nose and a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles rested on his nose. He walked with presence and confidence, with a force hidden behind his eyes and his flesh. This was the Base Commander Uhles, this was the man who would train them, would make them great, would make them proud warriors of Germany.

He walked up and down the line, his hands still clasped behind his back, appraising the recruits with his eyes. Then, without warning, he gave a shout.

"Heil!"

Ralph shouted without hesitation. "Heil Hitler!" His comrades did the same.

"You there!" Commander Uhles said, pointing at Ralph. "Are you a man, or are you a girl? Are you prepared to lay down your life in service to the Fuehrer, to kill or be killed for the glory of Germany?"

"Yes, Herr Uhles!" Ralph said.

"No!" said the Commander. "No, not _Herr! _You shall refer to me as Base Commander, and nothing else, do you understand?"

"Yes, Commander!" said Ralph.

Commander Uhles' expression softened. "For the next four months," he said. "I will be your teacher, your priest, your commander, your fitness instructor. I will tell you what to eat, and when to eat it. I will tell you what you will say, and when you will say it. I will tell you what to think, and when to think it. I will tell you how to survive in combat, how to shoot a rifle, how to throw a grenade, how to avoid bombings by planes, how to stay alive when confronted with a tank. I am the one who will decide if you are ready to leave this facility and join our soldiers on the frontlines, and I am here to tell you that not all of you will have the strength to make it through the training, that for whatever reason you are not worthy of the Waffen SS. It is a sad fact, but it is a fact nonetheless. If you wish to survive, if you wish to bring glory to Germany and to The Fuehrer, you will do everything and anything that I say. Is that clear to you?"

"Yes, Commander!" they all shouted.

The Commander paused for a moment, and then continued with his instructions in a firmer voice.

"You have not experienced anything akin to what you will experience here. There are physical and mental challenges that you must overcome if you wish to become an officer of the SS, and as I have said, many of you will not overcome them. You will be tested to the very limits of your body and your mind. Your muscles will cry out with pain, your lungs will gasp for air, and you will think that you cannot continue any longer. But if you do continue, if you push through the pain and the weakness, you will become an elite member of the most well-trained combat force in the world. The Americans will not be able to touch you, if they ever decide to join the war, the British will not be able to touch you, the French will not be able to touch you. The filthy Jews, for all their cunning and guile, will not be able to touch you. You will be an Aryan warrior, a Nazi soldier, a member of the Waffen SS, a weapon so deadly that no force on the Earth will be able to deter you. Your training starts tomorrow. Today you will be inspected by our medical staff, shaved, and given new uniforms, and spend the night in the bunker, waiting for your training to begin. Are you ready?"

"Yes, Commander!"

"Very well, then. We shall see. Staff Sergeant Schmidt!"

A black-uniformed man, with the lightning-bolt SS symbol on his uniform, appeared out of nowhere.

"Yes, Commander?"

"Staff Sergeant, take the new trainees to the medical facility. Have them examined, and take care of the other routine matters."

"Yes, Commander!" Staff Sergeant Schmidt said. He gestured to Ralph and the other trainees. "Single file line, follow me!"

Ralph stepped in place behind the Staff Sergeant, his face alight with glorious exultation. He was doing it, finally doing it! He was going to be an elite warrior, a member of the Waffen SS, a deadly tool in The Fuehrer's arsenal. He was going to be the one on the frontlines, the one who would bring honor to Germany, the one who would put down the Jews and their puppets. And all he had to do was pass four months of training, complete his exercises, and he would be handed a uniform and a rifle! He had always been fit, it could not be too hard, it could not be anything that he would be unable to deal with. Already he could see himself, saluting the Commander, being sent to the front lines, winning the war – all of it, anything that he dreamed, was possible.

They entered the medical facility, where they were all told to take off their clothes and enter a different room. Ralph entered the foremost door, where a silent doctor in a white coat motioned for him to stand up. The doctor ran fingers over his body, down his arms and his legs, then took strange instruments and put them in his ears, in his nose, everywhere and anywhere, making notes in a file as he did so. After half an hour he was taken to a hallway where barbers with shears shaved off his heads and grim-faced men handed him a pile of clothes to put on. He was instructed to follow the cobblestone path as it wound to the right side until he reached the bunker, where he would stay until the morning came and he was given further instructions from the Commander or the Staff Sergeant.

When he entered the bunker, the other ten recruits – _trainees, _now – were already there. No one was speaking. Ralph took his place beside a young man who was, perhaps, slightly older than he was. He said nothing, but gave an embarrassed half glance as Ralph sat down. Ralph returned the gesture in kind.

None of the men said anything, lost in their own reveries of bloody battle and plunder. One by one, with nothing better to do, they found positions in the bunker to sleep. Ralph was among the last to do so, but as he laid down he did not immediately go to sleep, but thought one thing.

_I'm going to be a Waffen SS. I'm going to be a Waffen SS. I'm going to be a…_

And then he fell asleep.

Chapter 2

Nothing in heaven, hell, or what lay between could have prepared Ralph for the first day of basic training.

It was swelteringly hot, the sun was beating down on their backs like fire from the devil himself. They were each clutching a sixty pound bag of concrete while running laps around the compound. Commander Uhles was running at a steady pace beside them, drilling them relentlessly.

"Who is the savior of Germany?"

"The Fuehrer!"

"And what has he saved us from?"

"The Jews!"

"Yes," he said. "Yes, the Jews! But not only the Jews, always remember that! The Bolshevics, also, and the Poles, and the Soviets, and the Negroes, too! The Aryan race is being attacked from all sides by the Zionist conspirators, and it is you who must carry the torch, you who must join the front lines! Now – halt!"

And the eleven men immediately stopped and sprang to attention. Commander Uhles clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace in front of them.

"Here is the thing that you have got to understand," he said. "At one time we Aryans were the rulers of the Earth. We had built a utopian society the likes of which mankind had never seen; we were the masters of science, of the laws of nature, our military might was unparalleled throughout the entire world. But after a time, our lust got the better of us, we mated with inferior species. Not all of us, but those that did crossed over to the side of the Jews, and infected our society from the inside out. Eventually we were stripped of our power, and our blood was tainted and dirtied."

Ralph clenched his hands. The traitors!

"Because of the actions of a few, we have lived in squalor and poverty ever since. But we are not going to live this way forever. In order to return to the fold, to have the power that once we had, we must rebuild the Aryan empire. We must conquer the lands of our ancestors, and exterminate those who contaminated our blood. Only this way can we regain our rightful place as the rulers of the world, and regain the power that we once had."

The truth! Finally the truth! Ralph felt his hands began to quiver from the excitement. And then, a burning clarity of mind; a fire was kindled deep in his heart, his eyes saw through a red haze. The Zionist conspirators! The dirty Jews of Negro blood! It was _they _who had stripped Germany of its power, _they _who had ruined the perfect Aryan society! For the first time in his life, Ralph felt the urge to kill, felt the urge to rage and scream and denounce and maledict and maim and kill those who had destroyed Germany's might, who had reduced her to this pitiable state. And he would get his chance.

"Run!"

The order lifted him out of his internal ravings. His clutched the bag of concrete closer to his chest, and his legs lifted and landed and lifted again in a rhythm that enveloped him, became one of many primal thoughts in the swirling river of his mind. _Up, down, up down, the Jews, up, down, up, down, Zionist conspirators, up, down, Jews, up, down, Poles, up, down…_

On they ran; for twenty minutes, for thirty, for forty-five, Ralph lost count. He could think of nothing but the pain in his legs, the stitch in his side, and the Jews, and knew that somehow they were all connected, that one caused the other and one he hated and one he loved, but he forgot which, and it was all something to do with the way one's legs moved up and down when they ran.

"Drop!" shouted the Commander.

Ralph fell down into the dirt over which they were now running.

"There's a tank bearing down on you, just a mile away, with its gun pointed straight at you. Save yourself!"

Ralph looked at the others. What? How were they supposed to save themselves?

"You can't save yourself?" said the Commander. "Very well, then, I'll tell you how. Reach into your right back pocket, there's a spade there. Dig a hole and bury yourself, you have three minutes!"

Ralph reached into his pocket and pulled out the spade, then plunged it into the dirt. He cracked the earth, lifted it out again. Cracked, lifted it out again; digging furiously, the sweat making it hard to see and the pain in his legs making it hard to concentrate. But he dug as his comrades around him dug until he had a hole large enough for him to slip into.

"Four minutes!" said the Commander. "You were not fast enough, you are dead! You must be quicker! Now, put the dirt on top of you, entrench yourself!

Ralph grabbed handfuls of the dirt, scooped it onto himself, poured it on top of his body, until he could see nothing but the dirt, and no one on the surface could see him.

"Look around you!" said the Commander's voice, muffled by the dirt. "You are surrounded by dirt,


End file.
